


it calls me

by KeyKnows



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Spoilers for KH3, i did edit this if you read it before pls read it again it's prettier now, i was listening to how far i'll go from moana and thats why this has a title, that certain reveal about a certain character, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 17:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyKnows/pseuds/KeyKnows
Summary: "This world is...just so small." Xehanort says.So he builds a ship and sails for all he dreams.(Or how Xehanort ended up in Scala ad Caelum)





	it calls me

 

The waves shake the ship gently, the sun shines brightly, blindly in the blue, clear sky and Xehanort has lost count of how many days he has spent at the open sea.

He lays on his back, burning under the abrasive sun, the shadow the sail projects allowing him to keep his eyes open and look into the empty, empty sky. His rations of food ran out a few days ago and despite his best efforts, fishing in the open sea is not the same as doing at the shore, and he has barely catch anything. His rations of water are dangerously low too and the storm from the other day broke the mast of his small ship and, even though he found a way to fix it, it won’t hold on another storm, or even a too strong wind.

Xehanort knows he’s going to die here. If starvation doesn’t kill him then thirst will, and if that doesn’t kill him then a storm will come and he will drown. Or maybe a shark will eat him, he thinks, a smile adorning his face.

A shark. He would surely travel farther than ever in the stomach of one.

He’s not afraid of dying. He made peace with that possibility months ago, while he was carefully planning the moment when he would finally get off those damn islands. He thought long and hard about all that could kill him once in the sea, he thought about it while he gathered his rations and built his ship and realized, back then, that he was more afraid of dying on the islands and never seeing the world beyond than dying in the open sea, swallowed by a giant whale or whatever would be out there.

Honestly, Xehanort thinks, breathing deeply on the salty air, there’s no better way to go for him.

However, even if he’s at peace with his soon to be dead, he’s still disappointed. He didn’t find what he came looking for and he’s sad, thinking about how small this world is.

He lost count of the days after the storm. When the mast broke down it hit him the head and it knocked him out, it’s a miracle he hadn’t fallen off the ship back then. When he came about it was in the middle of the night, he had gotten out of course and it was impossible to know how much time he had been out, but he knew it had been at least one day: The storm came at night and when he woke up the sun was setting again.

Since then, he has been getting farther and farther into the ocean without knowing how long it has been since he left the Islands, or how far exactly he had gotten or where exactly he’s going. He wasn’t that sure about his direction from the start anyway.

While he was planning his voyage he had tried to learn as much as possible of what he would find in the sea, and he had tried asking the elders of the islands about what they knew. He couldn’t possibly be the only person that had wanted to leave the islands, he had thought and someone had to know something. It turned out, no one had leave the islands in a very, very long time, and the ones that had never came back. At that, the people that stayed became more reclusive and decided it was better to simply not wander off. So there wasn’t anyone that could tell him even the smallest hint of what he would encounter.

He had brought with himself a journal to write down whatever he would find and so far the only thing he has written are descriptions of some fishes he has found that were never near the islands, and a record of the weather.

He wonders if those people, the ones that also sailed away looking for something else, also reached this same point. If they also ran out of food and water and laid on their ships, awaiting dead.

He gets up with a huff, adjusts his course and catches the wind. He decides it doesn’t really matter if he followed the same fate those people did, he has come this far and even if he didn’t find anything, not even another damn island, this is better that staying at the shore of Destiny Islands and forever wondering what could be out there: At least now he knows there’s nothing.

The knowledge is all he was asking for, anyway.

* * *

He has no water left, he realizes, as he drinks the last mouthful from his canteen. Xehanort sits with his back leaning on the sail, it broke again a few days ago and he has been drifting aimlessly since then. He hasn’t made an effort for fishing anything either, he doesn’t have any more bait and even if he did, he doubts he would catch anything.

The ocean has been strangely quiet for some time.

He writes that down in his journal, barely filled, with the help of the moonlight:

_xx/xx/xx_

_The ocean has been quiet in the last couple of days, or weeks, I cannot tell at all. The wind barely blows, the sky is always empty and the water is almost still._

_If I were to make a guess, I’d say I reached the end of the world…_

_I’m glad…I’m glad I came this far._

He writes the last period with finality. He guesses this is the last entry he will write in his journal, he doesn’t want to fill the rest of it with graphic descriptions of how is it to die of starvation and thirst. He knows that would be something worth recording, but he also doubts he will be lucid enough for it and he ponders, bitterly, that it won’t matter what he writes or doesn’t write.

Xehanort puts his journal down and looks at the sky. Even the moon and the stars seem strangely still.

The end of the world, he muses, this is it, this is all there ever was to see. How disappointing.

He sighs and stays for the longest of times looking at the moon, for so long it feels like dawn should come, but it never does.

At some point the water stands completely still and it feels like he’s inside a painting, representing a scene, trapped like he always was on the islands.

Trapped: It must be his destiny.

He closes his eyes and waits.

* * *

When Xehanort opens his eyes the world is darker than what it was when he closed them.

His eyes may as well still be close, with how dark everything is, and he may as well still be sleep, with how silent everything is. The silence and the darkness and the _cold_ , he realizes with a shiver, is far greater than any silence he ever heard and every darkness he ever saw and any coldness he ever felt.

This must be death, he guesses, and slowly gets up.

His small ship is stranded on a beach of unnatural white sand. He stands on the deck of his small ship and looks around. He doesn’t know what to make of what he’s seeing.

There’re rocks around the beach, black and gray and some of them have lines or dots that pulse with energy in blue and purple. He’s dumbfounded at their appearance, he has never seen anything like it before and he feels the warm of excitement bubbling in his chest. He turns around violently, looking at everything, the rocks that spike around the bay in sharp shapes, how they frame the moon in the starless, impossible black sky:

Somehow he knows this isn’t the same moon that has always watch over him.

He pinches the skin of his forearm, just to be sure, and the pain gets him ecstatic.

He hears his own delighted laughter before he realizes he’s laughing at all. He drops on his knees, uncaring of the pain at hitting the hard wood, and digs trough what remains of his supplies for his journal. When he picks it up he crawls to the beach, feeling the sand with his free hand and marveling at the sensation: it’s finer and smoother than the sand from Destiny Islands and it’s cold, so very cold.

He sits on the beach, facing the dark water, and writes. He writes details about the beach, about the rocks, about the moon, he writes desperately about what he sees and doesn’t understand and how eager he is to explore this, this…this new world.

He has been grinning like an idiot the whole time, his heart thundering in his chest as if he just ran a marathon. When he finally finishes writing he puts the journal down with a sigh and looks at the moon.

Someway he did it and even he dies here because he still doesn’t have any more food or water then it’s okay. It really is.

* * *

He’s not sure again about how long it’s been since he arrived here. In this place the night seems to be eternal, the moon always hangs at the same height, no sun ever comes and the tide never changes.

It makes him worry too. He knows he has probably been here for a while but he hasn’t been hungry or thirsty since then and he knows he should be and if he’s not then what if this is nothing but some sort of afterlife, or some kind hallucination while he dies under the sun, floating aimlessly on his small ship.

If this is the afterlife, Xehanort thinks, then he has no way of ever knowing. The thought makes him sick and he scoffs at it. But if this is a hallucination, then it has to stop at some point.

He takes the decision of exploring this world. He has been shy about it, cautious, even if what he wanted most was to know everything he could about this place he couldn’t just wander around with no supplies. But staying at the beach will get him nowhere so better get himself killed out there if that’s what it takes to know what the hell is going.

He disarms his ship and uses the sail and some of the wood to make a tent he can take with him. He uses the rope to tie it all and carry it easily on his back; he leaves behind most of the ship, his empty canteen and food containers, the only thing he takes with him besides the makeshift tent is his journal.

He stares at the world before him, decides a direction and starts walking.

* * *

There are…things, lurking all around him. He can’t hear them, they make no sound when they slip from place to place and he can’t see them at all, hiding in the darkest corners of this dark world but he knows they’re there and he knows they must be waiting for him to lay down and attack him.

He knows how to fight, more or less. He spent hours under the brash sun fighting with wooden swords in the sand, playing with the other kids of the islands, but this isn’t a game and he never fought anyone for real. He prepares mentally for the moment they decide that watching from afar isn’t enough.

The moment, however, never comes.

He has been walking endlessly for what seems both eternity and just a second. The scenery changes and that’s how he knows he has been actually advancing. He finds a forest of dead giant trees; the remains of a city of stone and incredible architecture; a town made of crystal. He’s marveled at the sights but it’s obvious all these places are dead, that something terrible befell them and they seem so disconnected from one another, so different from one another, like every one of them is, or was, its own world. He writes in his journal about them and draws with mastery what he sees, to illustrate what he can’t convey with words alone.

At some point he leaves behind the tent, since the never feels the need to sleep, just like his hunger and his thirst have disappeared. He feels tired, of course, but no sleepy tired.

He should be more worried about that but in all honestly, the more he walks and the more he sees and explores, the less he worries about what his lack of biological needs may mean. He’s too entertained learning all he can of this world and the pieces of worlds scattered around it to care about not sleeping. Better for him, that way he can keep exploring and learning without need for rest.

He should be more worried about other things too. He feels like something is watching him. Something besides the creatures that never come too close and never attack him, something that is more powerful than them, than him, that everything there is here. It’s a silly thought, but it feels like this something, or someone, is watching over him.

Who knows for what purpose something like that would be looking after him.

But it’s just a feeling, just a hunch, and maybe this place, in his stillness and his full emptiness, is turning him mad.

So he walks and writes and draws and hopes he’ll find something at the end of the road he’s making.

* * *

Whatever or whoever is looking after him leaves him alone.

He knows it because he no longer feels watched and, more importantly, because the creatures decide to attack him.

He sees them for the first time when he’s exploring the tower of a crumbling castle, writing about the pulleys that seem to be used to reach the higher place. The tower overlooks what appears to be a lake.

He’s sitting at the edge of a door less frame, writing, when he feels them. He turns around and sees one of them. It looks almost comical, with its big yellow eyes and small frame, it could even be called cute if it didn’t move so sickly, with spams around its body and…and getting inside the floor to get closer to him.

Xehanort gets up in a jump, hugging his journal to his chest. He has nothing to defend himself with and even if the creature seems to be inoffensive he can’t take his chances.

More of them appear from the corners of the tower and for a moment it looks like they won’t hurt him, they just stay there, shaking in its sickly way as if they and him being here at this tower is merely coincidental. He considers drawing one of them, since they don’t come closer. While he’s watching them and wondering if he should run or stay and observe, something bigger comes out of the shadows too. It’s like an adult, or advanced form of the smaller ones. It looks a little two human too, waliking in two legs and spreading its hands to him, as if to grab him.

There are some tense moments of stillness and then the big one jumps on him.

He screams as the creature shoves him against the frame and the smaller ones gather around his feet, suddenly springing into action. They don’t emit sounds at all but the darkness they’re made of seems to hiss when they start frantically climbing up his legs.

He tries to slap them away with his journal and hit them with his free hand but they don’t mind at all. He jerks as much as he can but the big one is keeping him in place with its weight.

Up close, Xehanort can see the creature’s pulsing veins over its head. The sight is revolting. He hits it but the creature is uncaring of his efforts and rises on of its hands: it puts it over his chest.

There’s a pull over his heart and it hurts. It hurts so much he screams a sharp, desperate yell, he has never feel a hurt like this, like it’s tearing him apart, like it’s breaking him in pieces. The creature keeps pulling at his chest and Xehanort gets short on breath, he can’t scream anymore and even though this doesn’t feel like death, he knows if this keeps up his fate will be so much worst.

Something shines in his chest and the creatures get more frantic at the sight.

He makes a choice. He can’t end here, this cannot be his destiny, not after he found all of this. Not when he knows there’s even more for him to witness out there.

He uses all his strength to break free.

And throws himself out from the door and into the lake.

The light the creature was pulling out of his chest disappears, gets inside him again and he can breathe again, he’s whole again and he’s falling to his dead.

He hugs his journal to his chest, unable to control his fall and awaits for the impact.

He hits the water head first.

* * *

 

He breaths.

( _its okay_ , the voice says, calm and reassuring and somehow playful, _its okay_ )

He’s out of the water.

( _i never thought i would see someone just wandering in the realm of darkness_ , the voice continues, amused, _and just a kid at that!_ )

The seagulls cry.

( _you reminded me of myself you know? writing in your journal, all proper,_ the voice laughs good natured, makes a pause and then softer, almost wistful:

 _i think my master would’ve like you too_ )

There’s chattering around him and someone is calling for him.

“Hey, are you okay?!” a young man says.

( _i’ll be watching you, i mean, i’m watching a lot of other people but…you seem promising, so we’ll see! dont disappoint me kid!_ )

Xehanort opens his eyes to a clear, blue sky and to a pair of eyes just as blue as it. He sits up, coughing violently, salty water coming out of his lungs.

“Oh, you’re alive!” the young man at his side says “Man I really thought I’ve found a corpse floating in the ocean!” He laughs, somehow nervously.

He breaths deeply at looks at the talkative guy.

“Wh—?” He tries to say, but he’s not even sure what he’s gonna ask.

He remembers falling from the tower and…and then…and then…

( _in your hand take this key, as long as you have the makings, for this simple act of taking its wielder you shall one day be…_ )

And then nothing.

“Easy, deep breaths,” the guy says, patting his back and looking at Xehanort carefully, curiously “where do you even come from?”

Xehanort takes on his surroundings, the ocean with no beach when he apparently appeared, the grand, beautiful city he’s in, the guy wearing clothes he has never seen before. He hugs his journal that is, somehow, miraculously still in his hands.     

He smiles and says:

“From far away.”

( _may your heart be your guiding key._ )

 

**Author's Note:**

> there was...so much more i wanted to explore and say with this but, well, sometimes it's just like this you know
> 
> hope you liked it!
> 
> Thanks for reading, every comment will be appreciated! <3


End file.
